Saturday morning started off with a gecko handshake:
I was up early, and wanted a drink a glass or two of 100Plus (a sport/isotonic drink) before heading out for tennis. The bottle of 100Plus was on the kitchen counter, so I grabbed it and pulled it towards me... only to feel something soft and squishy wriggle in my hand. I tore my hand away at once, and a 3” gecko went flying to the floor and ran off. Bleeaaaaah!
Immediately went to the sink and washed my hand... but it took a while before it stopped tingling - psychological aftermath of having not just come in contact with, but having squished, the little bugger. What a way to start the day, eh?
Then came the injury:
It was the first time in years that I was wielding a tennis racquet, and I’d been wondering just how badly I was going to be playing... turns out all that racquetball hadn’t corrupted my game anywhere near as badly as I’d feared. In fact, the main ‘issue’ I had was disbelief at just how ‘heavy’ the ball felt upon contact with the racquet which also felt rather weighty. I was handling myself pretty well, though, if you ignore my running backwards trying to position myself to return a high-bouncing lob, only to run out of tennis court and run into the chainlink fence! The ball embedded itself in the fence about a racquet’s lentgh above me. Ha!
A huge difference between racquetball and tennis is the area that you need to cover. Tennis requires a lot of up and down as well as lateral left and right movement. So there I was, chasing down a shot to my backhand: not sure if I got to it and returned it, or stepped awkwardly just as I got there, but then it happened: I felt my left foot twist under me, and I swear I heard a pop! that freaked me out despite there being no pain. I quickly reversed my direction, made myself fall on my behind, taking all weight off the foot.
It was then that I started wondering what #3 was going to be... they say these things come in threes, right?
Cat bite fever?
So Z and I went off to breakfast, chooing a nearby mamak that she not only drove me to, but insisted on dropping me off at right at its entrance so I’d not have to limp along more than necessary. I was the stubborn one who afterwards insisted on walking back to the car rather than enjoy the VIP treatment of getting picked up from the place. Yeah, typical me :p
We then hung out at her place for a little bit, catching up on news etc: can’t do that when you’re across the net: too far; or at the mamak: too noisy! I was paying lots of attention on two of her cats, especially Noir who it seems really loves attention, but also gets very particular about just where she wants to be petted, and will bite to show she wants more. Umm, yeah, she did the clamping down on my hand twice, the second time felt a bit more painful than expected, but I didn’t think twice about it, to busy chatting... when I got back I realised the cat had left five puncture wounds in my right pinky finger; she had actually drawn blood! No wonder it was so pedih!
With Cat Scratch Fever playing in my head, I washed my hand – the same one that had squished the gecko, btw – and hoped that this was #3.
More on that ankle, and why I'm sporting a half cast and wielding crutches, next. Stay tuned!